


Just Before Sunset

by firelordizumi



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Preteen politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:37:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelordizumi/pseuds/firelordizumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes far-away wars reach the home front, and people still get caught in the crossfire. Or, how Mai embraces indifference for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Before Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr between 11/17/14 and 12/9/14. Now consolidated for your reading pleasure!

The best part about her particular station in life, Mai thinks, is that she doesn’t have to speak to anyone before noon if she doesn’t want to. The household has been settled in its daily routine for hours, but Mai has not yet left her bedroom. As her stiletto embeds itself in the wall with a soft, satisfying, _thunk_ , she steps back to assess the damage, equally proud of the improvement in her marksmanship and her decision to claim a terrible stomachache earlier that morning. Yes, this was infinitely preferable to another breakfast fielding questions from her mother, particularly those which had to do with any members of the royal family.

It was inevitable that her mother would find out, especially in a city and a social circle where gossip came as easily as breathing. Whispers that her only daughter and Prince Zuko were spending more and more time together probably reached her about the same time Mai began experiencing a sudden wave of praise regarding her _smart choices_.

It’s an hour, every other day or so, whenever they can both find the time outside of their lessons. She’s not sure of exactly when it happened, but she and Zuko settled into a friendship completely independent of any she’s had with Azula or Ty Lee. And yet however natural most of their interactions have come to feel, the silences in their now-customary talks by the turtleduck pond have recently become charged and uncertain. Mai won’t pretend she doesn’t know why on her end; the shy smiles and blushes of her childhood have faded with time, but they’ve slowly been replaced by a strange tendency to feel totally content and totally uneasy around Zuko at the same time. Gone too is her tendency to stumble over her words with him, but she is still deliberate in choosing them in the hopes that they’ll be meaningful somehow.

It’s mostly small talk, which Mai is surprised to discover comes easily to her when she’s with him. She complains about school and how they’re not learning anything useful, he tells her his favorite stories from his military history lessons. They’ll laugh about a particularly pompous minister or plan how they’re going to get through the next formal dinner. He tells her of his plans for the future, how he’s going to become a general or an admiral, seeing the world and conquering its lands. And sometimes, only sometimes, he’ll lower his voice and tell her how often he wonders where his mother is, how much harder things have become since she left (Or was it disappeared? Mai knows the rumors, but never asks), how his sister has gotten simultaneously more distant and more vicious, his father even more demanding.

She never knows what to say to things like that, so she rarely says anything, and they’ll sit against the tree together in silence for a while. One time, she tells him how silly she feels about this, but he assures her that just having her there to listen helps, and his golden eyes are so sincere that her heart swells.

In any event, her hours with Zuko belong to her and Zuko, not to her parents’ increasingly transparent ambitions. And they are certainly not fodder for, Agni forbid, any more excited speculation or allusions to any arrangements down the line.

So Mai stays in her room that morning and practices her knife-throwing, only to be interrupted by a gentle knock on her door.

It’s one of the newer maids. Mai remembers her name is Eri, simultaneously realizing her morning of solitude has probably reached its end.

“Lady Mai, I’m sorry to disturb, but your mother has asked for you downstairs. .

 _Of course she has. We must have a visitor_. “Did you see who it was, Eri?”

“No, my lady. She just said it was extremely important and that I should fetch you immediately.”

Mai can’t imagine what could possibly be so important about talking to some interchangeable undersecretary or his wife about her calligraphy lessons, but now that she’s been summoned, there’s no use avoiding it, “stomachache” or no. She rolls her eyes when Eri’s back is turned and follows her down the hall, stopping in front of one of its many mirrors to make sure her hairstyle is still in place.

When she reaches the foot of the main staircase, she can hear conversation in the parlor where her parents usually receive guests. Mai can’t pick out individual words at this distance, but she can tell from the tone that her mother is using her banquet voice, all smoothness and deference, which means whoever it is must be important enough that it’s definitely not worth it for Mai to turn around and continue any claims of indisposition. With a sigh that she imagines to be particularly long-suffering, she continues down the hallway toward the parlor, until she’s momentarily stopped in her tracks by an efficient, instantly familiar voice.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m not staying long.”

Azula. Mai hasn’t seen her in a few weeks. She’d recently been taken out of school for some intensive firebending training or other back at the palace, but their paths hadn’t crossed since. A couple of Mai’s family’s servants seem poised to handle any requests the princess might have, but there’s no royal entourage or bodyguards in sight. It’s completely unprecedented for Azula to turn up alone, and Mai can’t help but feel unsettled at such an obvious breach of protocol.

Her mother, on the other hand, seems unfazed, and Mai realizes it’s because she’s probably dreamed of having a member of the royal family cross the threshold for years. She looks more pleased to see Mai than she has in a while when she notes her daughter’s arrival and says “Ah, there you are. You seem to be feeling better.”

Mai only nods and turns her attention to Azula, who appears to be casually examining her fingernails. That tends to mean Azula is getting impatient, so Mai decides to take control of the situation.

“Thank you, Mother. I’m sorry it took me so long.” Mai tries to look apologetic, even managing a small smile in the hopes her mother will take the hint. Thankfully, it appears to work. Her mother smoothes her skirts and exits with a final bow to the princess, taking the servants with her and leaving the two girls facing opposite each other.

There are no embraces or earnest declarations of how long it’s been. Azula makes no moves to sit down, and the air is uncustomarily heavy for so early in the spring. Mai wishes there had been time to air the room out a little. The family hasn’t lived in this house long, and it feels a bit odd to greet a guest in a room that she doesn’t know well herself, even someone she’s known for a significant portion of her life.

“I thought you would be more excited to see me,” Azula says, and Mai is relieved that she sounds more amused than annoyed.

“Believe me, I am. This is my excited face. You never told me you were coming is all.”

“Oh, that,” Azula says breezily as she flicks her bangs off her face. “Spur of the moment, really. I just missed you and thought I would pop by.”

Mai remembers every carefully staged palanquin entrance into the courtyard of the Royal Fire Academy for Girls and can’t help but snicker. “Since when have you popped by for anything in your entire life?”

“No need to be paranoid.” Azula finally crosses to a plush couch and sits down, one leg crossed over the other, her arms stretched out across the back. “It’s just that you’ve just been spending so much time with my brother lately and I’ve been so busy with training that we just don’t see each other as often as we used to.”

Mai is about to apologize, but something in her gut stops her. Instead she offers “It’s unfortunate. We should catch up.”

Azula smiles. “I’m glad you think so too. That’s why I think you should come over later. Father says I should attend the Agni Kai so I can learn the protocol, but it will be dreadfully boring without you there. Come just before sunset, and we can have dinner afterwards, you, me and Ty Lee.”

And that’s when Mai notices that Azula’s smile hasn’t reached her eyes and her chest tightens.

“Be careful,” she had told him yesterday, and Zuko had laughed it off. These things were common among benders, he had reassured her, and usually just ended in a few scorch marks.

“Besides,” he’d said, “that old general probably hasn’t seen action in decades. I was only thinking of the good of our soldiers. Father will see that when it’s over.” She’d arched an eyebrow in response, and he had told her again everything would be fine.

But now Azula is standing in Mai’s house. Azula has missed her. Azula is inviting her to an Agni Kai. It’s too late to feign ignorance; Mai is sure that some pursing of her lips or an involuntary flash of recognition in her eyes has not gone unnoticed. Nevertheless, she smoothes her face into a neutral expression and makes sure she is standing up straight ( _but not defiant_ ).

“I’ll be there,” she says.

“Good. I was beginning to wonder if you were avoiding me.” It’s a challenge. Or a warning. Mai realizes it’s probably both.

“Of course not. See you just before sunset.”

Azula nods and is soon gone, taking a renewed smugness that Ty Lee would call confidence along with her, and Mai suddenly doesn’t feel so well after all.

* * *

 

She knows now that she will not join Azula for dinner. She also knows that she’ll pay for this one way or another, but she can’t bring herself to care. It’s a small mercy that she and Ty Lee are at the back of the hall, as Mai doesn’t think she would be able to hold her tongue if she could see the princess’ face. They couldn’t see much of anything anyway, but everyone, regardless of where they were sitting, could hear the screams.

The outcome of the duel and Fire Lord Ozai’s subsequent sentence travels back through the crowd until it finally reaches the two girls. Ty Lee grabs Mai’s hand in the darkness, and Mai focuses on the pressure, silently willing her friend to squeeze harder, until she can feel something crack, something hurt, so she can forget what is happening, just for an instant. Even then, she knows it’s pointless.

Disfigurement. Banishment. All her worst fears have been realized as she pushes thoughts that are downright treasonous from her mind. Her father might be absent most of the time, and he could certainly be stern, but he never raised a hand to her. Someone, probably General Iroh, shouts for a physician, and she stands. Her ears have started ringing, and the onslaught of whispers around her are starting to sound more like a din. Everyone is too busy calculating their responses to this change in the status quo that she figures the sudden absence of one twelve-year-old girl won’t be noticed.

She turns on her heels and leaves the arena as quietly and deliberately as possible, staring straight ahead, with no particular destination in mind. Her grasp of the layout of the palace isn’t perfect, but she figures it’s at least strong enough for her to escape detection for a while as she collects her thoughts. One word continues to ring in her mind as she wanders the corridors: Exile. They’ve told her in school what it means. It’s a punishment for traitors and cowards, of someone who isn’t fit to even exist on Fire Nation soil, someone who may as well not exist at all. Only the offenders’ high birth manages to save them from an even more permanent fate in the first place. If he’s lucky, Prince Zuko will be relegated to a footnote in the history books. If he’s not, he’ll be a blank space on the family tree the next generation of students will have to memorize.

In an instant, she changes direction. He has to know that she will not forget the boy who made her laugh as he indignantly chased her through the courtyard, mud on his robes, the boy who was equally quick to challenge and quick to care, the boy who in those sunlit moments, could make her believe that he cared, beyond who her parents were or who she was friends with, about her too. She knows she’s getting closer because the crowds have thinned, the staff seems to have disappeared. Word has spread quickly and Zuko’s already a non-entity in his own home. As her pace quickens, Mai wonders if her parents know what has happened, if they know she was there, and her resolve stiffens. This is her only chance. She has to say goodbye.

Little by little, her memory becomes clearer, and when she reaches what must be the door to Zuko’s bedroom (Mai had only seen it once; Azula had felt like poking around and she had to admit she was curious), she steadies herself and knocks.

“Zuko, it’s me. Are you there?”

The seconds pass and they feel like an eternity. Mai counts her breaths, feeling them grow shallower. Finally, the door opens, but only partway. There’s not much light in the room, and she keeps her distance so as not to look like she’s prying, but the silhouette in the shadows is undeniably him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Zuko says, his voice cracked and hoarse.

“I don’t care.” It comes out fiercer than she expects. “I had to see you.”

“Please don’t come in. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

She’s already moved to open the door further, but jerks her hand back abruptly. It’s his voice that stops her, she’s never heard him sound so gentle and yet so utterly desperate before. Tears spring to her eyes, but she wills them back. The palace feels like it’s closing in on her again, and she sinks to the ground, unsure of everything except for the fact that she can’t turn around and leave. Not yet. She shifts to rest her back slightly against the open door, her arms hugging her knees. The door doesn’t budge, and she realizes that it’s because Zuko must have done the same.

“You’re leaving,” she says when the weight of the silence becomes too much.

“I’ll come back, Mai. It’s not forever.”

She snorts in spite of herself. “The wilting noblewoman and the faraway prince. They’ll write ballads about it.”

Zuko lets out a hollow laugh. “You don’t wilt.”

“No,” Mai says softly. And they won’t write about us either.

There are still things she wants to say, time she wants to wrench back into her grasp, but the pit in her stomach is so vast and so heavy that the words die in her throat. Instead, she tentatively reaches a hand behind her through the crack in the door, stifling a gasp with the other when Zuko takes it in his own. She memorizes the calluses on his fingertips, the faint pulse of heat they exude. He moves his thumb back and forth across her palm, and her breath catches in her chest.

They remain like that for a while, the flickering torchlight the only indication of the passage of time and the now-darkened skies outside, and Mai can feel finality settle over them like lead. Unable to stand it any longer, she breaks his grip and reaches into her sleeve for one of the knives she now always carries with her. Variations on clichés like “Please don’t go” and “Take me with you” run through her mind, but she dismisses them all as insipid, unnecessary, even insulting. All she can manage to say as she gently places the knife over the threshold is “Don’t forget.”

He whispers “I won’t. I can’t,” and shuts the door, the dull click of the lock turning amplified in the silent vastness of the hallway. Mai winces at the muffled sound of what sounds like something shattering against a wall as she rises to her feet. The memory of Zuko’s hand on hers still tingles on her palm, and she inhales sharply before allowing herself the luxury of running, daring anyone to encounter her. Just this once, she thinks. Just this once, let them know. By the time she reaches the gates, her face has reddened and her cheeks are damp.

The next morning, utterly exhausted, she stands on some official-looking pavilion by the docks with Azula and Ty Lee and watches the ship leave.

“I was trying to warn you for your own good,” Azula says as it becomes a black speck on the horizon. Mai decides it’s easier to believe her, easier to betray nothing on her face of the storm inside her as she stares at the rising sun, blinking only when the burning in her eyes becomes unbearable.


End file.
